


One More Time (Let's Do it Again)

by huldrejenta



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: dracotops_harry, Friends With Benefits, HP: EWE, M/M, Post-Hogwarts, Quidditch, sort of, working together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-23
Updated: 2015-04-23
Packaged: 2018-03-25 04:21:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3796504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/huldrejenta/pseuds/huldrejenta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco preferred his life free from the unforeseen and the uncontrollable. Surely he could handle Potter, though, friends with benefits or not. But since when had anything involving Potter gone according to plan?</p>
            </blockquote>





	One More Time (Let's Do it Again)

**Author's Note:**

> Dear anemonen, thank you for a lovely prompt, I hope you enjoy this!  
> Thank you so much to the most gracious mods and to my wonderful beta gilpin25 for the thoughtful work. ♥  
> The title is from Röyksopp & Robyn's "One More Time".

Surprises were supposed to be good things. 

They should be moments of joy that came to life with immaculate timing, arranged by someone clever enough to know what did and what didn’t count as a suitable disruption of everyday rhythm. They should create the pleasant flutter of anticipation that eventually, in due course, found their release in pleasant waves of enjoyable emotions. And they should never, ever, put the recipient of said surprises in a situation where embarrassment, disappointment or anger ended up being the main result. At least not if the focus was on a Malfoy.

Draco could hardly remember a single surprise meant for him that didn’t cause unpleasantness in one way or another, whether it was meant to be fun or meant to be a demonstration in the art of humiliating people.

Example: On his tenth birthday, Father announced in his man-to-man-voice that he had something special planned for Draco. It turned out to be something very different than the best tickets to Puddlemere United versus Kenmare Kestrels he’d been nagging about for weeks. History’s most tedious introduction to some of Father’s most important friends _(”It’s crucial to know whose opinion matters and whose you can ignore, Draco”)_ was just what any ten year old longed for. (Of course, they’d ended up going to the match anyway, but still, it was the principle of the thing.)

Then there was the sadly unforgettable agony of having to endure Pansy’s surprise kiss on his fifteenth birthday, and even worse, when Blaise arranged a surprise striptease for his twentieth. That part of the evening – including a very _female_ stripper that Blaise had asked to take _very_ good care of Draco (and really, Blaise should know so much better) – did to this day remain the single most nauseating experience of his life. At least if he disregarded all scenarios that involved someone being in danger of dying.

It would, however, be difficult to top the surprise announcement made by his dark Lordship himself when he proclaimed that the Malfoy Manor was now to be his new headquarters. 

If Draco hadn’t already been the type to prefer being in control rather than going with the flow, he certainly became one then. 

Which is why he didn’t see much reason for anything but caution when Coach Wood had taken him aside. “There’s been a surprise change in the Seeker course, Malfoy”. 

Draco knew everything there was to know about his fate for the next four weeks. Undoubtedly it was set to become a test of his patience and his not particularly well developed ability to endure stupid questions and general incompetence. Still, he couldn’t deny the satisfaction he got from being chosen. Only the best Seekers in the League were asked (ordered) to tutor promising new Seeker talents. It was a prestigious course, and Draco was determined to keep the eye-rolling to a minimum and do a fine job. 

But the all too familiar sense of dread started spinning around at the edge of his consciousness by Wood’s words.

”You won’t be working with Johnson on the course, Malfoy. It turns out she’s been injured. Good news is they’ve managed to find a last minute replacement who’s more than up to scratch. I know you two weren’t...” 

Wood cut himself off and got caught up in some emergency or other on the Quidditch pitch (the Beaters always got hurt, so Draco was hard pressed to see what the fuss was all about), leaving Draco to Apparate home to his flat none the wiser about who the _surprise_ co-instructor was.

There was of course the teeniest of chances that the surprise was – for once – a nice one. It could turn out to be someone he genuinely liked. He wouldn’t mind getting to know that new Seeker from Tutshill Tornados a little better. Based on the locker room gossip Draco rarely engaged in, but kept an ear on nevertheless (one never knew when it might come in handy), the man had a clever head on top of that amazing body of his. 

Draco quickly dismissed the idea with a sip of his wine. Wood had warned him for a reason.

It was far more likely to be someone he loathed. That would be unpleasant, perhaps, but still doable. Draco knew those patterns.

But of course it couldn’t be – that would be far too easy. 

Of course it would have to be someone who turned Draco into a confusing mess of emotions he couldn’t even identify (although he was pretty certain that grudging attraction was one of them).

Harry Potter showed up at the training pitch the next morning, looking alarmingly fresh and cheerier than anyone should be at this hour, with a thick blanket of fog and rain surrounding them. 

Any sense of control Draco might’ve had over the situation disappeared the second Potter turned towards him with a friendly “Morning, Malfoy!”

"Hello, Potter."

Draco picked up his broom, wondering why he was upset. Besides Potter being here in the first place, there was nothing surprising about him once the shock had settled. Nothing surprising about Potter’s chirpiness at seven in the morning, strutting around on the muddy Quidditch Pitch while angry winds did their best to tear off his robes. It was not surprising that all the Seeker wannabes buzzed around him with mooning cow eyes. And if Draco was being honest with himself, he wasn’t particularly surprised by how Potter took to his teacher role the second they got started.

It wasn’t even that much of a surprise that cooperating with Potter went smoothly, starting with a pleasant smile and a relaxed “Nice to see you”. During the last few years their paths had crossed irregularly, but often enough to throw Potter back into Draco’s awareness. Quidditch matches, social get-togethers with mutual acquaintances, shopping in Diagon Alley. Once the inevitable awkwardness had passed, Draco found himself politely greeting Potter whenever he saw him. They’d engaged in civil conversations more than once. It was remarkable how no longer having to worry about wars and Dark Lords and “Father says” could change your interaction with someone. 

Draco wouldn’t call them friends. But every time they met, he got more convinced that if circumstances were to conspire and put them in the right situation, maybe one day they could be. Friends. Maybe tutoring up-and-coming Seeker stars could turn out to be such a situation. Maybe now was the time for them to get closer. Could he hope?

And there it was. The reason why working with Potter gave him this funny taste in his mouth. This particular surprise meant wanting something. It meant hope. And hope was dangerous.

They’d spent the hours before the students were due to arrive going through all the plans and schedules Draco had prepared with Johnson. Potter nodded, mumbled “This looks great” and “Yeah, that’s a good idea” every now and then while tapping his fingers on the parchment. Compliments could get you a long way, at least when they were so obviously genuinely meant. Draco had seen enough flattery for the sake of achieving something to last him a lifetime, thank you very much (which of course didn’t mean that it was beneath him to use it himself if the situation so required). Potter’s mumbling appreciation of Draco’s work, though, was enough to quell at least _most_ of the irritation when Potter had a few suggestions for changes to be made. 

It might’ve caught him unaware that Potter turned out to be rather funny, but it was no more than Draco could handle. He was quite proud of how well he took to working with Potter, who, despite their improved relationship, still had easy access to Draco’s usually hidden emotions. 

The real surprise came after practice, after the brooms were safely stored away, and the students had expressed their satisfaction with their first day of Seeker training (Draco couldn’t be bothered to squash the pride rearing its lofty head when they included him in their enthusiastic praise). They were newly showered and full of accomplished energy in spite of the inevitable tiredness. 

Draco was in no mood to go home. Judging by the way Potter lingered, neither was he. 

“Want to go to the Leaky for a drink?” Potter grabbed his coat and dragged his hand through still wet hair.

Draco wanted to. 

“I think this calls for a little celebration,” Potter said once they’d found a booth and ordered their pints. Draco didn’t ask what it was exactly that Potter found worthy of celebration. Anyone who’d known the two of them back in school would understand. 

Somewhere in between ordering drinks and telling each other jokes, while sitting close together with the pleasant hum of the other customers playing in the background, the already easy tone became one of relaxed companionship.

“This is nice.” Potter was halfway through his second pint, the golden light from the Leaky's many candles painting a soft shimmer through his black curls.

It was nice. Very nice, considering how Draco kept seeing new sides to Potter, sides that threatened to shake up his peace of mind. He needed that peace of mind. Especially around Potter. But still. This was nice.

“Who would’ve thought we could be like this?” Potter’s warm voice turned into soft laughter. He laughed a lot. He gave himself to it, without making fun of anyone, without any malice. Potter laughed with his entire being. It started somewhere in the corners of his eyes and spread like an unstoppable force across his face, continuing through his body. There was no self-awareness about it, he remained utterly unguarded. 

Draco prided himself on having a well-developed sense of humour. But he was always conscious about the role his jokes were playing, which strings to strum in order to evoke one particular kind of laughter. A good Malfoy was always aware of being judged. And humour could be an effective weapon. 

Potter had none of this. Funny, yes. Standing up for himself, yes. But not the calculating agenda Draco was used to. “Cheers to us,” Potter said and laughed.

Later, Draco decided this was the moment he started falling for Potter. When Potter laughed.

*** ***

The week flew by in a pleasant blur. Daytime was filled with Quidditch, much like Draco had been used to since he signed for the Appleby Arrows. But tutoring others was different from playing himself. Being a team leader was different from the solitary role of a Seeker. And having Potter there with him was very different from... not having him there.

Naturally, Draco would complain sometimes. “What _is_ it with the quality of these Seekers, nobody told me it was Amateur Day," he'd say through his teeth. Potter laughed, knowing just as well as Draco that their students were all excellent. Then Potter would go out of his way to suggest various activities to break up the rather strict routine, everything from having the students tutoring each other to more or less ridiculous team-building exercises. 

“Let’s build a tower together,” he said one particularly sunny afternoon, “using no magic and what we find beside the pitch only.” Or “Why don’t we start this lesson with playing tag for a while?”

Draco, of course, rolled his eyes. “What’s next on your list, Potter? Spin the Bottle?”

“What’s wrong with Spin the Bottle?” Potter looked alarmingly like someone who might very well suggest just that any moment. 

“Nothing, Potter, nothing at all. If we were fourteen year old girls, I’d say it was a splendid idea.” Potter shrugged and sent Draco a smile that did absolutely nothing to his insides. Draco pretended that the idea of sitting cross-legged on the pitch, waiting for Potter to spin the bottle while listening to his own heartbeat speeding up, knowing that maybe the bottle would do its spinning, steadily slow down, slower, slower – and end up pointing to him, was an idea that didn’t appeal to him _at all_.

Night time soon became pub time. Having a pint or two (or some pumpkin juice - they did, after all, have a tight schedule), sitting close to Potter, talking about nothing in particular. It became Draco’s favourite way to unwind. His favourite time of the day. 

One evening Granger and Weasley joined them. Although the amount of words he shared with Weasley the entire night barely passed ten (“Malfoy.” “Weasley.” “Want a refill?” “Yes, please.” “Have a nice evening.” “You too.”), and Granger talked way too much in an obvious, but probably well-meant effort to avoid awkwardness, all in all it went rather well. 

But it was the nights alone with Potter that Draco found himself looking forward to. It was the anticipation of moments that were _theirs_ – Potter’s and his – that made him glance to his watch rather more often than exciting and enjoyable daytime duties should warrant. 

It scared him. 

Having a good time at the pub with a friend – fine. Wondering if he wanted more than what he already shared with Potter, well, that was not okay. _Wanting_ meant being in a position of losing something. Losing someone. 

And yet.

“Let’s have some Firewhiskey tonight!” The Leaky was full of open invitation. Potter had that eager and playful look on his face. Draco would gladly challenge anyone to remember a single reason why they ought to keep their distance while being on the receiving end of that look. Besides, it was Friday. No Quidditch tutoring tomorrow. Draco was game.

They were halfway through their third Firewhiskey when it occurred to Draco. It was quite possible that he wasn’t the only one here who wanted more than some friendly banter. 

It was there in Potter’s eyes. It was there in the way he smiled and bit his lip. Potter wasn’t drunk, but he was easier to read than he normally was. And what Draco saw was enough to trigger emotions long since buried, but never quite forgotten – the wish to have some kind of power over Potter. To have something Potter wanted. To _be_ someone Potter wanted. It was there within his grasp. The thought made him dizzy.

Besides, it certainly made the whole pesky being-vulnerable business less terrifying. Potter wanted him back. A little fun between two almost-friends couldn’t hurt. 

Not at all.

Draco could tell the exact moment when they passed the last crossroads, when all routes led one way only. Nothing major. Small tell-tale signs that told him something was different. Potter lifted his glass, slowly, swirled the golden liquid around a few times before meeting Draco’s eyes with an intensity that burned. Potter tilted his head back and finished his Firewhiskey, baring his neck and swallowing one, two, three times. A smidgen of foam remained on his mouth, just on the curve of his upper lip. Need flew like an arrow through Draco, a burning desire to wipe the foam away with his finger. Or even better, his tongue. 

Potter got up. “Call of nature,” he said, nodding towards the bathrooms. His eyes locked with Draco’s for a second longer than necessary. Then he walked away.

Contrary to popular belief, Draco wasn’t particularly promiscuous. A few one-night stands over the years were not enough to give him much insight into the unspoken rules of what one man meant when giving another man that look before retreating to the bathroom. No experience was needed, though. There was no mistaking what Potter wanted. There was no doubting what he himself wanted. Draco stood, and followed.

 _Potter wants me._

To be perfectly honest, he would’ve preferred having Potter in a warm bed surrounded by velvety soft linens. Or at the very least, in a room where he could bend Potter over a table without having to worry about the inevitable smell that gentlemen tended to leave behind, or someone flushing the toilet a few feet away from them. But at least this way made it easier to avoid awkward post-sex conversations.

The bathroom was empty. None of the stalls were locked, but the sound of shuffling feet and someone clearing their throat floated upwards from behind a door he’d never noticed before, placed as it was behind some hideous green plants. Whose idea was it to put plants in a public toilet anyway? 

Draco stepped through the door, and Potter locked it behind him. They were standing in a narrow alley Draco hadn’t known was there, it was so much better than the cramped bathroom. A pale ray of moonlight found its way to the ground. Distant sounds of chatter seeped through from the pub. Otherwise the air was dark and quiet. 

It was difficult to keep his defences up when Potter closed the distance between them. It was hard to think why public sex was a bad idea when Potter breathed into Draco. It was impossible to focus on staying smooth when the smoky taste of Potter’s mouth crawled into his. 

There was no way to concentrate on anything except Potter’s body pressing closer, strong arms touching Draco’s back and neck. His hands found their way under Potter’s shirt; it was untucked and allowed Draco to follow Potter’s spine, to feel the muscles on Potter’s back and the breath that hitched when Draco pressed against his chest. Potter’s skin was so soft. Draco wanted to explore every inch of this body, he wanted to take his time and discover Potter’s secrets. But he pushed the desire down. Those were dangerous thoughts. He wasn’t here for that.

“Turn around.” His voice sounded low and gruff, he hardly recognized it as his own, but Potter turned with a swift movement and pushed against the wall. There wasn’t much room for Draco to stand anywhere but close to Potter. He reached around for Potter’s buckle, opening it while stubbornly ignoring the tremor in his hands. _Be still_ he told himself, _be still_. He couldn’t tell if he meant his shaking hands or his treacherous heart. 

Potter let out a soft sound, like a moan. He leaned his head against the wall and held his hands in hard fists, unmoving. “Come on,” he said. Come on. Oh, yes. Draco could do that. Leaving all hesitation behind, he pushed down Potter’s trousers and boxers, exhaling deeply at the sight of Harry Potter with his trousers around his ankles, waiting for _him_. “Come on,” Potter said again. He groaned when Draco touched narrow hips and glided over parted thighs. He practically whimpered when Draco found his way and whispered the spells. But when Draco finally and all too soon pushed into him, Draco had no idea what Potter was doing. Because he was completely lost. The world consisted of nothing but aching pleasure. It was ridiculous and wonderful that something like this could exist; he needed more, more... And then, with a cry, he came.

*** ***

To Draco’s relief, things didn’t change between them. They still worked together with their Seeker classes like they’d been doing it for years. They still chatted easily and teased each other like friends do. And they never discussed what had happened between them. Thank fuck for that.

So what if Draco caught himself dreaming of Potter when admiring his flying skills? So what if he sometimes fell asleep with memories from a moonlit alley playing in his mind? He wouldn’t let himself lose control like that. End of story.

“What do you do for fun?” They were at the Leaky again, no words mentioned about what happened last week. “I mean, when you don’t play Quidditch.”

Potter shrugged. “There isn’t much time left at the end of the day, especially now that I've been trying out for the professional teams. I enjoy hanging out with friends. And I like to cook.”

“To cook?”

“Yes.”

“What a gripping life you do lead, Potter.”

Potter didn’t seem the least bit offended, if anything he looked amused, smiling into his drink. Butterbeer tonight, which might be slightly on the childish side, but they did have an early morning tomorrow, and Draco was all in favour of playing it safe around Potter. 

But Potter obviously hadn’t received that message. He took a long sip of his drink and closed his eyes. Instantly, the mood changed. 

“We really need to discuss catching the Snitch with the wrong hand tomorrow.” Draco finished his Butterbeer and put the bottle onto the table a little firmer than necessary. “I can’t believe how our students can be so skilled in most Seeker techniques, and still lack the fundamentals of changing the catching hand.”

“They’ve got some potential for improving, yeah.” Potter smiled again and pushed a shock of black fringe away from his eyes with that gesture Draco had come to recognize as Potter gliding into intense territory. “We should go through our notes one more time.” 

“Might be a good idea. One can never be too well prepared.”

Potter’s smile turned feral, which was a strange word to come to Draco’s mind, considering all Potter did was widen his smile just a little bit, while narrowing his eyes. 

“Let’s go somewhere we can compare notes undisturbed,” Potter said, and what was it Draco had been thinking again? Something about playing it safe with Potter?

Maybe a grand idea in theory, but terribly boring in real life. Draco stood up, knowing very well he was letting parts of him other than his brain call the shots. Right now, he couldn’t care less. “Indeed, let’s.” 

And so they did.

“Hold on.” Draco stood still and lifted his arm in invitation, letting the unspoken question linger, and Potter, sweet Merlin, Potter didn’t ask. He held up his arm for Draco, allowing himself to be Side-Alonged, and he did it with a grace and confidence that left no room for doubt that he gave Draco something special by doing so. To give that sort of trust.

They landed in Draco’s flat with a soft thump. Potter took the place in with a sweep of his eyes and nodded. "Nice place, Malfoy." Draco didn’t know why he felt relieved.

_Control. Get control of the situation, Draco._

It was just sex, for Merlin’s sake. Sex and Quidditch preparations. He could do this.

Calmly, he leaned against the doorframe, folding his arms across his chest and tilted his hip just so much. He knew exactly how this pose made him look. It was a look that he liked.

But Potter smiled, a smile tinted with amusement rather than admiration. “Are you going to arch an eyebrow on me as well, Malfoy? That look _always_ comes with a raised eyebrow.”

The crestfallen feeling flying unbidden through his insides must’ve shown on Draco’s face, and Potter’s eyes widened. “No, no, you look wonderful. Very hot. What I mean is that you don’t have to put up an act. Just be yourself, Malfoy. It’s you that intrigues me.” 

Oh. Oh, yes.

Oh, no.

Draco pushed himself off the doorframe and cleared his throat. “Aren’t we supposed to prepare for tomorrow’s classes?”

“We most certainly are.” Potter picked up a tiny book from his pocket, mumbling a quick _Engorgio_. “Always prepared!” He grinned, waving his ever-present copy of _The Seeker’s Manual to Improved Technique_ over his head and slung himself on Draco’s comfortable sofa. “Are you coming?”

Never one to forget his duties as a host, Draco sat down next to Potter a few minutes later, putting two cups of tea on the table. “So,” he said. “Let’s begin.”

Potter opened the manual and started reading out loud. “ _Any good Seeker must be able to utilize both their right and their left hand with equal force, determination and precision. This is important when it comes to catching the Snitch as well as steering the broom._ ”

They were supposed to plan a lesson, not re-reading what they already knew. But Draco found he enjoyed listening to Potter’s soft, melodious voice. Before he knew it, he relaxed against the cushions. 

“ _To a Seeker,_ ” Potter continued, “ _the element of surprise is crucial. Developing a predictable style can be what remains between a promising talent and a full-blown star._ ” A relaxed sigh floated through Draco’s body. His eyelids grew heavy. Potter lifted his hand and let it fall on Draco’s head, gently massaging his scalp, dragging his fingers through Draco’s hair.

This was heaven.

They sat like this for several minutes. Potter’s voice filled Draco’s ears, and in his dreamlike state it took Draco some time to realise Potter was no longer reading from the Seeker manual.

“You’re tense, Malfoy.” His hands moved from Draco’s hair down to his shoulders. “You need to relax.” 

But the sensations were no longer relaxing. They were exhilarating and wonderful, flowing together in a mix of dizziness and lust. As if watching the two of them from some place distant, he lost himself to touching Potter, to undressing, to finding Potter’s mouth with his own.

The way Potter _felt_ against him. The way Potter’s skin burned against his. To his horror he almost said the words out loud. He bit his lip while struggling for control, relieved when “Fuck, that’s good!” came out instead.

How come people didn’t do this all the time? Had they actually tried this? Surely they couldn’t have, or they would never have been able to get anything done, ever. No one who’d had a taste of this tongue or knew what it felt like to lie between these strong thighs would ever want to live without. No one who'd met these green eyes the second before desire fluttered them closed would ever want to look away.

Or maybe _Potter_ was the force that lifted this from good to spectacular. 

Draco drowned the thought in a swirl of heat and sweat, of bodies moving against each other and an aching need making his toes curl and his head spin. It consumed him. Potter owned him. Whimpering, they brought each other to the highest peak and fell together.

It was when they lay on the sofa afterwards, out of breath and huddled together just a little closer than friends with benefits did, or whatever the fuck they were, that the realisation swept over Draco. He didn’t want anyone else to have Potter this way. Seeing Potter losing himself, listening to the sounds he made – it was to be for Draco’s eyes and ears only.

But Draco had always had a possessive streak. He’d never been one to easily share his toys. 

That was all it was.

After their next encounter – because of course it happened again – Draco could no longer hide to himself that he’d gone and landed himself in trouble. 

He didn’t give it much thought when they kissed. There were other things on his mind when they undressed slower and more leisurely than they had before, like two people with all the time in the world, who couldn’t think of a better way to spend it than in each other’s company. He didn’t think about much else besides Potter’s burning eyes when Draco took his hand, leading him into the spacious bathroom.

"Shower sex, Malfoy?" Potter took off his glasses and stretched like an eager cat - a lion, no doubt. "I like it." Seconds later, hot water washed over them. Potter leaned his head back, relaxing his wet body against the tiles. Water droplets trickled down his shoulders. Draco had never seen him look so beautiful. His hand found the spot where Potter's neck met his shoulder, and the world narrowed down to steam, wet skin and the need to get closer.

But afterwards –

Afterwards, when the last remnants of climax had left them, _then_ the thoughts came. The thoughts Draco wanted to avoid.

So, he didn’t much like the idea of Potter with someone else. That was acceptable. Completely understandable for a man of Draco’s jealous nature.

But now –

It was there, the realisation he’d wanted to run away from, the one that could only mean releasing control, allowing another person access to his life. A person with the power to shake up his existence and fill it with wonderful things. But also carrying with them the power to utterly destroy him.

He might not be promiscuous, but Draco had a vivid imagination. Never one to shy away from a little daydreaming when his eyes landed on a well-shaped body. When he casually wrapped his fingers around his morning erection, he’d usually fantasize about the brunette he’d flirted with at Flourish & Blotts, or the handsome blond he’d met last month at Blaise’s. But when he stood the next morning in his shower, hot water darkening his silver hair, the only person he was able to focus on was bloody Potter. When his breath sped up, it wasn’t the honey brown curls of that fit Chaser he wanted to glide his hand through, but the black mess belonging to Potter. And when he exhaled after an orgasm that drained him of more strength than in-passing shower wanks usually did, he was forced to realise the inevitable: That he didn’t want anyone but Potter. That the idea of having someone else’s hands caressing him or meeting someone else’s mouth, made him more than a little uncomfortable. 

Only Potter could evoke these feelings in him. And even worse – Draco didn’t want anyone besides Potter to try.

Sweet Salazar. This was so not on. Who exactly did his stupid heart think it was, betraying him and his neatly laid plans like this?

Falling in love. Stupid notion. Because it didn’t feel like falling. It felt like someone coming over to him, wrapping themselves around him, around his heart, carving their way into his life until he couldn’t remember a time when they weren’t there.

*** ***

Draco could always rely on Quidditch. It was a never-failing way to keep focus away from places where it had no business being. Flying would always bring with it a sense of calm or euphoria, all depending on his mood. 

Not today, though. 

He only managed to leave his brooding behind when one of the Seekers got hurt. It was one of those things that shouldn’t have happened. The broom was adjusted wrong, weakening the magic that kept the young woman in the air. “I’m all right,” she said once the Healer confirmed the injury wasn’t serious. “It’s impossible to guard yourself completely from getting hurt.”

The words followed Draco around the entire day. It _was_ indeed impossible. Besides, the damage was already done, he’d gone and developed _feelings_ for Potter. Might as well enjoy the ride now that it had started anyway. 

Maybe.

But Potter wouldn’t be Potter without having a special talent for ruining his plans. 

“I don’t think we should be having sex anymore,” Potter told him in a break, casual as you please, talking over his shoulder. “It might ruin our friendship, and I value that friendship way too much to risk it.”

Potter kept talking, probably sensible things that Draco would’ve heartily agreed to just a few days earlier. He didn’t want to listen to it now. He wanted Potter to shut his mouth and go away. The least he could do was to let Draco keep an illusion of dignity and allow him to have his breakdown in peace.

*** ***

The rest of the course meandered slowly by. It was okay during the day, when their students occupied time and mind. At least as okay as it could be when one half of Draco ached for Potter, and the other half cursed himself for wanting.

He wanted Potter one more time. Just one more time of feeling Potter coming undone, and this madness would pass. But he knew it was a futile hope. He would always want one more time. It would never be enough.

So here’s what he was going to do: He would allow himself one more day of wallowing, one more night to wrap his arms around himself while letting confusion and want wash over him. Then it would have to be enough. He’d finish his tutoring duties with style. He’d treat Potter as friendly as ever, if slightly distant, showing him that the whole thing bothered Draco about as much as a difficult stain on his favourite robes would.

They went to the Leaky one evening; after all they were supposed to be friends, weren’t they? Wasn’t this what it was all about? After a night of polite platitudes and awkward pauses, neither of them suggested it again.

“Hey, Malfoy, want to go for a drink sometime?” It was the end of a particularly hard practice. One of the Seekers, a guy with a dazzling smile that he willingly shared, had stopped Draco in his tracks and taken him aside. Draco could feel Potter’s eyes following them. He could feel Potter listening in on every word. 

Good. Good, good, good. Let him wonder. Let him wallow in the pit he’d dug himself. Draco saw no reason to inform Potter that he intended to decline the invitation.

On the final day, Potter had showed off in the air as usual. Draco was happy with his own performance. Quidditch could still numb at least some pain. He’d done his job, and he’d done it well. The students said their grateful goodbyes and left to celebrate.

The pitch was quiet. A mild breeze ruffled Draco’s hair and the sun started setting, framing the world in its golden light.

Only Potter was still there. He stood in the middle of the pitch, looking at nothing with a dreamy expression. Draco walked closer.

“I’m going to miss this.” Potter’s voice was low and calm. “The students and the classes. The feeling of accomplishment.” He turned slightly towards Draco, making his long evening-shadow flutter on the ground. “I’m going to miss working with you, Malfoy.”

Draco smiled before he could help it. “It’s been good, hasn’t it?”

“It’s been more than good. And the best part was experiencing how ‘Malfoy-and-Potter’ could mean cooperation and proximity. In more ways than one.”

“Not in every way, though.” Stupid voice failing to hide his stupid tremor.

Potter shrugged. “You made it very clear that you didn’t want more than sex, Malfoy. Once I realised that wasn’t enough for me, it was better to stop hurting myself.”

The words made Draco jerk, hope clutching his heart. Maybe he hadn’t ruined everything after all.

“We would never work,” he said. “Would we?”

Potter turned around, standing just a few feet away. His eyes were alive and full of a thousand questions. Draco wished he could answer at least one of them.

“Maybe not,” Potter said. “But then again, maybe we would.”

Draco bit his lip, steadying his breath. “I’m a bit weary of surprising turns in my life, I have to admit. I don’t have a lot of good experiences with them.”

Potter released the smile he’d kept hidden. “Surprises can be a wonderful thing, Malfoy. It can be ‘You’re a wizard, Harry’ or ‘You’re our new Seeker, Harry’ or ‘Love can conquer the worst of odds’. Of course, it can also mean dreadful things. But you won’t know unless you try.”

A warm, fuzzy feeling fought its way from wherever it was buried, spreading in Draco’s chest. “I should’ve known you’d see it like that, Potter.” He didn’t even bother hiding the fondness from his voice. “I still say surprises should be kept at a minimum. But maybe some of them are okay.”

Potter stepped even closer. “Surprise me,” he whispered.

“I might just do that.” Draco took Potter’s hand and let their lips touch, lightly. “I’ve always wondered if it’s possible to kiss while you Side-Along someone,” he said. “I think it’s time to give it a try.”

Potter laughed. With a soft pop, they were gone.

**Author's Note:**

> If so inclined leave a comment here or at [LiveJournal](http://dracotops-harry.livejournal.com/301460.html). 
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> I can also be found on [LiveJournal](http://huldrejenta.livejournal.com/) and [Tumblr](http://huldrejenta.tumblr.com/) :)


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